Darts
by Don't trust your eyes
Summary: Two strangers at a bar, chasing their demons away in a haze of alcohol and... some fun company. Darts, tequila shots and more, so much more. It could be his worst decision, or the best that could happen to him. Entry for the Days of Fifty Challenge (author 8). One shot / first chapter of a future story. The FSOG characters used in the telling of this story belong to E L James.


**Thank you so much to Lanie Love and Ms Caron for organizing the Days of Fifty challenge at The Playroom of the FSOG Sisterhood Facebook page. This is my entry for the challenge (author 8). Many thanks too to all the readers, specially those who left a review (some of you are old acquaintances from Singing your Shades; hugs and kisses to all of you).**

 **A special thanks to Ms Caron for the title ;)**

 **Not beta-ed.**

 **The Fifty Shades characters used in the telling of this story belong to E L James.**

* * *

Christian tipped his head back, bringing the shot glass to his lips. The bourbon burnt down his throat, leaving a euphoric trail traveling to the middle of his chest that gave way to a delicious numbness. He slammed the glass upside down on the bar and swept a few drops of the amber liquid from his chin with the back of his hand.

"Your turn." He said hoarsely, clapping his brother's back with his other hand.

Elliot chuckled, assessing the long trail of shot glasses aligned over the bar.

"Naw, man. I pass; I'm already wasted." He declined, standing up from his stool.

"You're not." Christian scowled.

"You're following not far behind." He continued talking, dodging Christian's comment. "You could call it a night too and come with me." Elliot smiled sympathetically.

Christian sucked in a breath through his teeth, hating that look of pity on his brother's face. He averted his eyes, landing in a petite brunette playing darts at the other side of the bar.

"I'm not comfortable leaving you alone in a day like this…" Elliot talked tiredly, brushing a hand over his face.

"Don't worry, man. I'm good." Christian interrupted him. "The night is young." He shook the unpleasant thoughts that threatened to storm into his mind and gave Elliot a lopsided smile, pointing with his chin towards the girl and wiggling his eyebrows with fake playfulness.

Elliot looked at that direction, noticing the woman whose aim was too good for the seemingly inebriated state she was. He looked back at his brother, who still had his hooded, drunk eyes fixated on her, and shook his head.

"Have fun, Christian." He wished him with a light slap on his back. "But not too much." He added as he walked away.

Christian responded with a mock military salute and turned his attention once again to the brunette. She was gulping down the remnants of her last beer, one of too many, considering the growing number of empty bottles on her table, and right after she threw a dart, hitting very close the bulls-eye. Christian nodded silently, impressed by her skills. She turned sideways, doing a silly little victory dance and clapping both hands cheerfully with a bartender who walked by near her.

She wasn't his usual type of glamorous, carefully-polished women, flawless from the tip of their perfectly styled hair to their manicured toenails. The photo-call type, with sparkling smiles and even more sparkling dresses. The perfect type to show off on your arm and have a good time. He was a compulsive monogamous, no-strings-attached pleasure-seeker specialist. She was not his usual type, but this beauty, even in her wasted jeans and ratty sneakers, was able to capture the attention of every hot-blooded male in a mile radius. She bent over to grab a fallen dart from the floor and Christian hummed appreciatively, tilting his head to admire her fantastic backside. He bit his lip, envisioning his own teeth gnawing on that alluring flesh, and groaned when a flash of colorful ink poked out when her shirt rode up. She positioned herself once again on the shooting line, ready to throw the next dart. No, she wasn't definitely his type, with that witty air around her and that wild mahogany mane that reached the small of her back… but when she turned around after finally hitting the bulls-eye and looked him in the eye, he just didn't care. She walked backward to the dartboard, holding her stare with a defiant face and a knowing smirk, and he inevitably weaved towards what was probably his next bad decision.

_§ § 0 § §_

Ana broke eye contact with the gorgeous specimen of a man sitting at the far end of the bar and turned around.

She wasn't shy about her sexuality. Quite the opposite; she had never shied away from telling what or who she wanted. On the other hand, she neither had a wake of one night stands behind her. But that night… that night she was feeling lonely, she had drowned her sadness in booze and she wanted – _needed_ – some fun.

"Hit and sunk." She murmured to herself while pulling the darts out of the dartboard with too much force, making her plunge backward.

A wall of hard muscle prevented her from falling to the ground.

"I like your moves." He chuckled huskily in her ear. He just wanted to wrap his palms wide open over the alluring, warm curve of her hips, but he stepped backward instead when he was sure she was stable enough.

She turned around, laughter bubbling out of her mouth in hazy abandon.

"Yeah, I'm gracefulness personified." She joked back.

Her dreamy smile froze in a silent gasp at the sight of him. From the distance, it was clear that he was tall, lean but strong, and very handsome, but the dimmed lights of the bar, and maybe the alcoholic cloud numbing her senses, had not made him any justice. She could see now, with the right amount of light, the copper glint in his dark hair. She could appreciate the sharp edges of his strong jaw. She could admire his clear grey eyes, almost translucent, with a dark rim on the outside and flickers of blue here and there. God, those eyes.

"Hi. I'm Christian." He whispered almost reverentially, his awestruck features morphing into the most gorgeous, panty-dropping smile she had never seen.

"Hi, you." She whispered back. Her chin was up, defying that sexy blush that tinged her skin so alluringly. "Ana."

She was stunning. He got enthralled by her bottomless ocean blue eyes, framed by long, dark, sultry lashes; he wanted to brush the tips of his fingers along those lashes; feel the silky tickle on his skin. Her rosy lips, pouty and mouthwatering, got his attention secondly.

When he looked at her mouth, Ana's eyes moved towards his of their own volition. His lips seemed soft, surrounded by a five-o'clock shadow. They looked generous but demanding, even domineering. Perfectly shaped, a little bit plump, and with that terribly sexy Cupid's bow.

She sighed. It was too much and too fast, but she was going to do it anyway.

"Do you want to keep playing?" Christian asked, pointing behind her toward the forgotten darts game.

"I'd rather play another game." She answered, cocking an eyebrow and tilting her hip.

Christian's eyes traveled to that said hip.

"Do you want some shots?" He asked her, looking her once again in the eye. "How much have you got?" He second-thought himself, pointing to the crowded table, full of beer bottles.

"Not enough." She shrugged, walking to the nearest pair of empty stools. "What would you suggest?" She asked him, trying to figure him out.

"Tequila." He smiled devilishly.

_§ § 0 § §_

Christian had not laughed so much and so hard in a very long time. They both were wasted, but, behind all the playful banter and silly jokes, there was an undeniably strong chemistry between them. Not just sexual, but on a higher level; high enough for either of them been incapable to analyze in their current state.

"Your turn." Ana slid a tequila shot over the bar toward Christian, the clear liquid sloshing over her finger.

Christian smirked; just two hours short ago he had told those same words to his brother. He, on the other hand, was happy to keep up with her.

He took the salt shaker with one hand and brought his other hand close to his mouth, stopping right before licking it. His smirk grew wider, and his eyes turned a devilish, darker shade of grey.

"Could you…?" He stepped closer to her, showing his intentions by waving the salt shaker in front of her. "…help me with this?" He towered over her; his smile charming, his eyes avidly expectant.

She tilted her face up and looked at him. Her breathing faltered at his close proximity, but she masked it under a false façade of bravado. "Where would you want it?" That mischievous glint in her eyes would be the death of him.

"Oh, so many possibilities… where would I begin?" He crooned jokingly. His eyes landed on his target, making his mouth water. He licked his lips as his fingers tingled against her skin, brushing her tresses off her neck and gently pushing down the collar of her shirt. Ana shuddered, tilting her head to give him a better access. "Here…" His whispered breath warmed her skin, just before his tongue swept in a long, wet lick on the hollow over her collarbone. The salt tickled her skin and instantly she felt his mouth again; tongue swirling, gathering all the salty grains, and lips sucking, molding to the soft flesh.

Ana exhaled, goose bumps running through her skin, as he watched him take the shot in a rapid gulp; his eyes never leaving hers. She took a slice of lemon and brought it to his mouth.

He hissed; the acid of the lemon in stark contrast with the burning of the alcohol and the remnant saltiness in his mouth. But the lingering taste of her skin on his taste buds was still there.

She eyed him studiously, with that plump lip trapped beneath her teeth.

"Now it's my turn." He was sitting on his stool once again, so she positioned herself between his open legs. Christian gulped heavily and balled his hands into fists, which were resting over his thighs.

Ana took his wrists, gently turning up both his arms to run her fingertips along his forearms; up and down, until he relaxed his fists and she could trace his palms too. She fingered the cuff of his shirt, rolled op on the crook of his elbow.

"Sexy forearms." She muttered.

Christian was about to make some crass remark, when he watched fascinated how Ana grabbed his arm and licked a path on the inner part of his forearm, sucking and sucking on it after adding some salt, making his mind conjure all sorts of different images of her doing exactly the same over another appendage. He brushed the lemon over her lips, painting them with acidic glossiness, and drooled over the way she kept sucking on it.

"Fuck, Ana…your mouth…" He groaned deeply, gripping her hips. "Do you want to carry on this little party elsewhere?" He whispered a few inches of her mouth; citrus and liquor in a heady combination.

"My hotel room is just next door." She whispered back.

_§ § 0 § §_

"Let me." Christian said, mildly exasperated while snatching the card key from Ana's hands after she had dropped them twice.

She laughed and wiggled her butt over his groin, making him grunt in response. As the door closed, he pressed her against it, his front to her back, and Christian's hot breath fanning over the side of her face.

"Are you a good or a bad girl?" He asked tauntingly, running his nose over her temple, her jaw, her neck.

"You tell me in the morning." She answered breathily.

His low chuckle reverberated all over her body, and she pressed against him one more time.

"Stay still." He warned, dropping his hands from the hold he had on her wrists, slowly caressing his way along her arms, her sides, until he reached her hips.

Her skin was warm under her t-shirt and her muscles constricted at the touch. He circled her waist and hastily unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. Her breaths came in short puffs of air; hot, raging anticipation building in her belly like wildfire.

He dropped to his knees behind her at the same time he pulled down her jeans.

"Fuck." He cursed at the sight; never in a million years had a plain black cotton thong been so flattering.

He grabbed a handful of toned flesh in each hand, massaging greedily until his teeth met the soft skin. Ana moaned another curse, bending down in both surprise and pleasure. Christian growled in a lust-induced response, savagely pushing aside the thin strip of fabric and parting her ass-cheeks to ravage her tangy-sweet delight. Ana's knees buckled, unable to contain the weight of the pleasure he was delivering, and he caught her in a tight embrace; arms snaking around her thighs and tongue licking the delicate filigree of blooming flowers that colored her right side, pushing up her shirt to reveal more and more of it.

"Fucking beautiful." He murmured against her ribcage, her t-shirt bunched all over his head.

"I want to see you too." Ana whined, awkwardly turning around with her jeans bunched around her ankles.

She opened his belt, taking his white shirt out of his slacks and pulling hard to open it, making a few buttons give in and fly out. His broad chest was adorned with a Phoenix bird before a setting sun; the ink bleeding down one bulging bicep and his taut, rippled abdomen. She paused for a moment, tracing the outlines with one single finger reverentially, committing into memory the feel of it.

His face was serious; eyes blazing and chest heaving; flesh trembling under her touch. He embraced her once again when she circled his waist and held onto his back, attaching her hot mouth where his neck met his shoulder.

After helping her get rid of her jeans and panties, not even bothering to take off her striped socks, they stumbled far forward into the small and simple room, which consisted in a queen bed, a chest of drawers with an old TV and two little bedside tables. They landed unceremoniously on the bed, freeing her from the over-washed t-shirt and the matching cotton bra. He turned her upside down and got rid of his ruined shirt, grabbing a condom from his wallet before taking his shoes, pants, and socks off.

She was sprawled on the bed, looking sideways at him with her head on her crossed arms.

"Do you want to fuck, don't you?" He asked her as he settled himself between her parted legs.

"Of fucking course!" She laughed.

"I had to ask." He muttered against her neck.

His fingers trailed the path of flowers, from her shoulder to her hip, the last sprouts curling toward her groin. He found her hot and slick.

Ana clutched the sheets when Christian entered her in one slow, but powerful thrust. He was thick, hot and heavy, and he remained there, immobile, deeply buried inside her as his hot breath fanned over the nape of her neck. She exhaled loudly, relishing in the sensation; his hard body completely covering hers, cocooning her but not crushing her with his weight; her sex split in two, pulsing around him, but needing more, so much more.

She sighed in relief when he nudged her knees, parting her legs a little bit, and retreated out of her to begin a steady pace of maddening thrusts. He climbed higher and higher, kissing and licking his way along her tattoo, burying his nose in her hair at the same time he advanced inside her more and more. Her breaths became moans, sexy little cries of pleasure forced out of her mouth. When she began to curse, Christian knew she was about to cum. He let himself go, clenching his backside to grind harder, and searching her hands over the mattress, which he found and grasped at both sides of her head.

He had never felt the need to do so.

Their cries met in the stale air of the room, shivering bodies rippling in sheer pleasure.

Christian turned them sideways and snaked his arm around her waist. She put her hand over his, not thinking about it until he opened his fingers and intertwined them with hers. He ran his nose over her shoulder, finally coming out of her with the movement. This sobered him up and reminded him of tying a knot in the little rubber fucker.

Neither of them spoke, just watched the other one lying sideways on the bed; wandering eyes memorizing little details that otherwise might fall into oblivion. He had a little scar on his chin, were his stubble didn't grow. There was a cute triangular constellation of three little moles on her right arm. But the most startling discovery, a rare coincidence of sorts, was that the ink on their skins; that green, rosy and purple hues that colored her side and that Phoenix that cried on his chest and back, masked a similar pain.

Their hands caressed the rough patches under the colors, landing on the other one's head, their fingers locked among silky locks.

 **He knew he was home when her lips touched his.** It was sweet and passionate; sensual and breathtaking, but it was not her intention. It was more, so much more, and she didn't do more. But, when after that first brush, his mouth covered hers, she didn't fight it. She couldn't, even when she knew she would regret it in the morning.

His lips were generous and demanding; she had nailed her previous assessment.

_§ § 0 § §_

She woke up startled, nausea and a lacerating headache making their way through her brain. She looked to the side and watched that perfect stranger sleeping beside her. She sat on the bed, holding her head to alleviate the pain and chew on her nails. Why did she have to offer to go to her damn hotel room? It was way better to escape the other way round. She miserably got out of bed, washed her face, dressed and gathered her scarce possessions in her backpack.

She kissed his cheek before running away.

_§ § 0 § §_

He found himself alone in a hotel room that was not his. His clothes were scattered on the floor, his wallet had the same contents that the day before and there was no fucking sign of the girl who challenged him in front of a dartboard. His head was killing him and he had her smell all over him, but she had left him without a word. He sat on the bed, defeated, after moving the sheets around looking for a note. There was nothing.

He dressed in his creased slacks and his shattered shirt and went down to the bar downstairs. He had forgotten his jacket there the night before. And she had paid the bill, informing that there was another guest still left in the room. He felt like shit.

He covered himself with the jacket and called a taxi to take him back to his hotel. He expected many things from a city like Detroit, but nothing like her.

Not the end...

* * *

 **This one shot is the first chapter of a story that keeps running around my head for some time now. It's shaping and growing in my brain, giving side glances to my other Christian and Ana while tapping their foots on the floor... I will continue it (I have no other chance; they will drive me crazy if I don't), but it will take a while. First, I will finish Singing your Shades, and second, I will write at least half of the story before posting it; this way I will be able to assure you a decent posting schedule.**


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